Not Going Anywhere
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Jim is seriously injured in a shooting, and Blair reacts badly to the incident.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written around 2005, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Don't expect it to be.

NOT GOING ANYWHERE

by EvergreenDreamweaver

Plot Blurb: Jim is seriously injured in a shooting, and Blair reacts badly

 _Okay, so it isn't Rainier University. It's West Community College. That doesn't mean the kids here are any less eager to learn. They're great!_ Blair Sandburg, Detective Second Class, felt a smile on his lips and an uplifting of his heart, as he made his way down the corridor toward the classroom. _After all you went through, Sandburg, here you are again – teaching! It's in Criminal Justice, for Pete's sake! – but you're back there on the lecture circuit again!_

It had come about so strangely, Blair thought, still smiling.

#####

He had been sitting at his desk one summer afternoon in the Cascade PD's Major Crimes division bullpen, doing paperwork with most of his mind, while the remaining part of it contemplated what would be quick to fix for dinner. Currently, his partner and roommate Jim Ellison was down in Records, looking for something or other – or rather, Jim would be standing and impatiently tapping his foot or his fingers, and making a polite attempt to stifle his glares, as the poor Records clerks hunted for whatever it was His Royal Highness, Detective James Ellison, the acknowledged top dog of Major Crimes, had demanded of them!

Simon Banks, division captain, had emerged from his office, looking bemused and thoughtful. He glanced around the room, and his gaze settled on his youngest, newest detective…and the thoughtful look had become a satisfied smile. "Sandburg – my office, if you please?"

That had been a warning right there. Captain Banks wasn't one to add 'please' to a demand for a detective's presence in his office…unless there was something seriously bad going down…such as horrible news regarding a relative, or the likelihood of an official reprimand, or a particularly nasty case coming to them, or something of that order.

Blair had looked up, startled – he couldn't think of any reason, offhand, why he would be in line to be yelled at, and as far as loved ones, Jim was safely down in Records, and that only left his mother, Naomi…."Captain?"

Banks, seeing the sudden panic in his eyes, hastened to put a reassuring smile on his face. "Everything's okay, Blair; I just need a few minutes of your time."

Puzzled but acquiescent, the relieved Sandburg had followed the captain into his _sanctum sanctorum_ , and warily taken the indicated seat, as Banks returned to the chair behind his desk.

"Sandburg, I had a call from a friend this afternoon – Lee Powers, the head of the Criminal Justice department at West Skagit County Community College . He was in a bit of a quandary, and was hoping I could help him." Banks took a cigar out of a carved wooden box on his desk, and began to unwrap it carefully, paying strict attention to what he was doing. "It seems that one of his instructors was badly injured in an automobile accident, and they're short teachers for Fall and Winter terms; Lee's beating the bushes for someone who might fill in. He called to ask me if I might know of anyone in the P.D. who could handle it." Simon looked up, meeting Sandburg's eyes squarely. "I immediately thought of you."

"Wha—me? Teach criminal justice? Simon, I can't – I'm not…" Flustered, Blair raised both hands in a defensive, warding gesture. "That's crazy, I…."

"Sandburg, the classes are—" Banks glanced at a piece of paper lying before him on the desk. "Criminology 200, **Introduction to Criminology** , and Criminology 316, **Criminal Reports and Records**. Look at the course descriptions, please." He shoved the paper towards his shocked detective and leaned back in his chair, contemplating his cigar with quiet pleasure.

With shaking hands, Blair picked up the paper. _**Criminology 200:**_ _INTRODUCTION TO CRIMINOLOGY (3 hours). A consideration of criminality, its nature and extent, particularly in the United states; and an analysis of the etilogy of criminal behavior, criminal law, and societal reactions to criminals._ _ **Criminology 316:**_ _CORRECTIONAL REPORTS AND RECORDS (3 hours). A survey of the most frequently used forms of reports and records required by local, state and federal agencies directly involved in the administration of corrections. special attention will be given to the technical skills necessary for completing such forms and reports._

"Simon—" Ocean-blue eyes were still surprised, but now they were sparkling, as well. "I take it back. I could teach that in my sleep, man! Without notes!"

"That's what I figured." Banks smiled sweetly. "Now…the questions are: do you want to, can you spare the time, and what will Jim have to say?"

"And a couple more," Sandburg said, with a soft chuckle. "When are the classes scheduled, and most important – what does it pay?"

###

When presented with the probability of his partner suddenly becoming a college instructor – again – Jim Ellison blinked a few times, read the course descriptions, looked at the wistfully hopeful expression in Blair's eyes, and said: "Chief, if you don't jump on this, I'll never forgive you! When do those classes meet?"

To the partners' great relief, the classes were each scheduled for a once-a-week three-hour session, one on Wednesday afternoons, the other on Thursday mornings. It would take a chunk out of Blair's time, certainly, but it was eminently do-able. Office hours would be a problem, but the department head assured Blair that they would manage to work something out so that he didn't have to be on campus much more than the actual class times. West Skagit CCC wasn't a terrible commuting distance; there would be no reason Blair couldn't make it to the precinct by noon on Thursdays, and wouldn't have to leave work until one, on Wednesdays.

It was decided – and Sandburg found himself spending most of his free time in August reviewing course materials and sketching out lecture notes. His preparations, however, were often interrupted by worried questions abruptly directed at his roommate _apropos_ of nothing!

"Jim – are you absolutely sure you're okay with this? The whole point of my being your partner is so that I'm with you, after all!"…."Jim, what if something goes down while I'm at the college and you're out there without backup?"…."Jim, man, what if you run into something that you're deathly allergic to, and there's no one that can help you?"…."Jim – man, what if you zone, and I'm not there?"

For, unknown to almost everyone save the denizens of Major Crimes, James Ellison was more than merely a good detective; he was also something very rare and special. He had been born with enhanced senses, giving him incalculable advantages…and also devastating _disadvantages_ , when those senses were overwhelmed, when he encountered something that kicked off a sensitivity spike, or when he concentrated too hard on something, producing the near-catatonia they had come to know as a 'zone-out.'

Blair Sandburg had done his Master's thesis on people such as Ellison, although he'd never encountered any with all five senses enhanced, before Jim. Blair had been searching for a subject for his doctoral dissertation on 'Sentinels,' or the modern-day equivalent of a tribal watchman, when he had met Ellison. Working together, the two had discovered that a Sentinel needed a partner; someone to watch his back, to act as a buffer and a grounding agent against the overwhelming sensory input constantly received. Someone so attuned, so linked to the sentinel as to be an inseparable soul mate. _A Guide_. Blair Sandburg was Guide to Jim Ellison's Sentinel, as well as being his partner on the force, his roommate, and his best friend – and he took his job very seriously!

"Chief, don't you think I've learned anything, over the last five years? You sound like you don't trust me to walk across the street without you holding my hand!" Ellison seemed irritated, but his roommate knew perfectly well that Jim's bark was much, much worse than his bite. "Besides, it's just Wednesday afternoons and Thursday mornings! Maybe I can get lucky and get all my court appearances scheduled for those days. I'd be there on my own anyway; testifying doesn't usually involve both of us at the same time."

"Catch up on paperwork…" Sandburg suggested, with a mischievous smile. "Go home early and make your poor, exhausted partner dinner when he staggers home from hammering information into students' hard little heads…."

"That too," the Sentinel admitted, grinning.

"I'm still worried about you having a problem out in the field when I'm not there to help," Blair fretted. He snatched at a dangling strand of curly dark-auburn hair which had escaped from his ponytail, and wound it around a forefinger, then chewed on it reflectively.

With a grimace, Ellison reached over and removed the tresses from his partner's mouth. "Stop that; you'll give yourself split ends."

"What's that, the daily tip from the Sentinel Beauty Calendar?"

Jim cuffed him gently on the back of the head. "Don't snipe, it's unbecoming," the older man reproved, his ice-blue eyes twinkling. "Look, Darwin, I know you're worried, but give me a little credit, can't you? I realize I work better when you're with me – hell, Blair, I WANT you with me, you know that – but a couple times a week, for a few hours, I can cope – you know I can! I've been your best student for years now…right, Teach? It's been months since I've had a zone-out I couldn't stave off. Hasn't it been proved time and again, when you've been busy with something else, or sick, or in the hospital, or …or held hostage…or something?" he finished, more reluctantly.

Blair shrugged and nodded, but didn't speak; his throat had grown tight at Jim's last remarks. They brought back too many memories.

"Don't you trust me, Chief?"

"Jim! That was LOW! Of course I trust you." A soft laugh was followed by a heartfelt sigh. "It's everyone else I don't trust!"

#####

The weeks of preparation had been stressful. Even the realization that he _did_ know the subjects didn't soothe Blair much. He was desperately nervous about this; he not only had his own reputation to create, he felt as if he had the whole Cascade PD's reputation on the line too. Much to Jim's dismay, his temperamental Guide stopped eating, and couldn't sleep. He began cramming information as if he expected to have to recite the textbooks verbatim. Despite his best efforts to present an unconcerned front, Blair was tense at work, and tightly-strung at home, alternating between snappish petulance and silent, heart-fluttering panic. But opening day at the college finally arrived, and Sandburg betook himself off one sunny Wednesday afternoon, to become a college lecturer once more.

His students adored him from the first day: he was young, exceptionally good-looking, a mesmerizing lecturer, and most exciting, he was an _actual detective_ , not just a teacher who knew the theory. The rest of the faculty liked him: he was friendly, courteous to a fault, did his work and did it well. Jim and the other detectives in Major Crimes managed to struggle along in his absence, although they assured him time and again – grinning – that he was missed dreadfully; and Blair found that as he'd told Simon, he could practically teach the courses in his sleep. He knew his stuff, did Blair Sandburg. After all, he'd been writing Jim's reports for four years _before_ he made detective himself, and he'd been writing them ever since! After the first week, he was relaxed and happy to be there.

###

Now he smiled at his students, cleared his throat and perched on the edge of a table. "Okay, I've got your last assignments to hand back…and then we're going to discuss some points from them…."

Fifteen minutes before the 90-minute mid-point break, the door at the rear of the classroom opened quietly, and a casually-dressed black man with a round, friendly face entered. A few of the students turned about, curiously, and he put a finger to his lips, then walked slowly towards the front of the room.

Blair had his back to the class while he wrote on the chalkboard, talking all the while, but a few soft whispers of "Mr. Sandburg…" alerted him. He paused in his lecture, and turned around…and all color drained from his face. The piece of chalk in his right hand snapped audibly as his fingers clenched about it. There was only one reason Henri Brown would be interrupting his class.

"H….H., no…" Blair lurched forward a step or two, and grasped for the table. "It isn't…no, not…not Jim…."

Detective Brown moved quickly to his colleague's side and took his arm. "Blair, babe, he's alive – he's alive, babe! Listen to me! He took a hit, yeah, but he's alive."

The students were totally silent, transfixed by this real-life drama being suddenly played out in front of them.

"He was…Henri, he was in court! COURT, for God's sake! How—"

"Damned sonofabitch Downs managed to get hold of the bailiff's gun; don't ask me how. I could kill those guards….He grabbed it and started firing – Jim just happened to be in the line of fire, along with several others." Brown gripped Blair's arm more tightly. "Hairboy, I think you'd better sit down; you look like you're gonna pass out."

"No…no, 'm all right…." Sandburg swallowed hard, trying to gain some control, hoping the buzzing in his ears would soon fade. "Gotta get – to Jim…."

"Blair – babe, listen. You're in no shape to drive; that's why Simon sent me 'n Rafe, instead of calling you. Rafe's waiting for you outside; he'll take you to the hospital." He held out his hand. "Give me your keys, and I'll bring your car."

"H." Blair stared at the other detective with his heart in his eyes, as he fished keys from his pocket. "How bad is he? Tell me…please!"

Henri sighed softly. "It's not real good, but it's…look, Simon said to get you, but it's not 'Get Sandburg here because Jim NEEDS HIM RIGHT NOW,' it's more like 'Get Sandburg here because Jim will need him.' He's in surgery now, I think. See the difference?"

Blair nodded tightly and the stark terror in his eyes abated a little. "Yeah…surprisingly enough, I do." He turned to face the silently-watching class. "I'm sorry, but something's come up – guess you gathered that. My partner's been hurt…I have to go. I'm really sorry to cut the class short, but—"

A young man in the front row leaned forward across his desk. "Mr. Sandburg, we understand – and believe me, it's okay. This is important for you!"

The young teacher managed a tiny smile. "Thanks, Sean." He whirled about, grabbed his attaché case, and hurried towards the door. "Thanks, H!" he threw back over his shoulder, and was gone.

Henri Brown turned to face the students, an expression of extreme sadness making him look much less jovial than he usually did. "And that, my young friends," he said solemnly, "is an example of something you probably wouldn't have learned in this class otherwise, about being a police officer. The side that no one talks about. It's something we face every day when we go to work: the potential loss of a partner."

"Mr. – uh, detective…?" One of the students spoke, frowning, uncertain about how to address Henri.

"Detective Brown," he supplied, smiling.

"Detective Brown – would you have time to stay a few minutes…and talk to us about what happened?"

Henri looked shocked. "Huh? Me?"

"Please?" Several spoke at once. "Please, could you?"

"Well…sure. I guess so." Somewhat self-consciously, Henri seated himself on the edge of the table, where Blair had been.

"Would you tell us what happened?" The young man Blair had addressed as Sean repeated the question.

"It was Blair's – Detective Sandburg's – partner, Detective Ellison. He was in court, to testify. A prisoner managed to get hold of a gun, and started shooting. Jim was one of the victims."

Shocked gasps and whispers swept over the classroom for a few moments. Then, someone's very small, tentative voice, from the back:

"He didn't…die…right?"

"No—" Brown paused. "He was still alive…."

"But?"

"But badly hurt. And he and Blair are real close." Henri paused again, uncertain of how much he could say without violating Blair's and Jim's privacy. "Has Hair—Detective Sandburg talked about his partner – his work?"

"A little," someone confirmed. "We know his name, and that they've been partners for five years – since before Mr. Sandburg was a cop."

"That didn't exactly make sense," another puzzled-sounding voice said. "How could they be partners if he wasn't a police officer?"

"Blair was a ride-along observer with Ellison," Henri briefly explained. "But what I was going to say was, police partners are usually very, very close. Closer than family, closer than a husband or wife, quite often. I know that sounds odd, but it's true. Your partner knows things about you that your family doesn't…maybe can't. And it has something to do with knowing that every day when you go to work, you could end up dead…and your partner is sometimes the only thing between you and a nasty ending." He looked out at his listeners and smiled. "I and my partner, Brian Rafe, we're close, and we trust each other with our lives, and we're best of friends – but even so, it's not the same as Ellison and Sandburg. Nobody's closer than Jim and Blair. Those two are like two sides of a coin. Completely different and completely inseparable."

"Mr. Sandburg said they live together," came another comment.

Henri trod carefully through this landmine-laden field. "They share an apartment, yes."

"Are they…that way?" This time the questioner sounded both incredulous and sardonic, with strong undertones of derision. A few irritated-sounding sighs from other class members followed the query.

Brown gazed serenely out over the classroom. "I can't say…I've never felt I needed to ask them anything that personal," he said coolly. He was rewarded by approving murmurs and ripples of laughter from most of the students. "I can tell you that Blair routinely wins everyone's money on Poker Nights, and makes the best chili in town, and that as an observer – NOT a police officer – he once took out two terrorists with a vending machine and a bathroom door;" he continued calmly, "and that Jim Ellison was an Army Ranger before he was a detective, and spent 18 months in a Peruvian jungle after everyone else on his team was killed in a 'copter crash. He has been selected as Cop of the Year three years out of the last five. He and Sandburg have the best solve rate of any detective team in the state of Washington – maybe in the whole Pacific Northwest. There's no one better than those two when it comes to sheer guts and ability and brains. They complement each other like no two other people I've ever met."

He stopped abruptly, feeling a definite choking sensation rising in his throat. "And now Ellison's lying on an operating table with bullets in him," he managed, at last. "And my partner is doing his best to get Sandburg there right away, because…that's where he's needed."

The silence was profound…and finally broken by sniffles and a few choked-down sobs.

Henri stood up. "I think maybe class is over for today," he said. "I'm sure Detective Sandburg will be contacting you about assignments for next week, if you don't already have one."

They straggled to their feet, packing up books and papers and pens, chatting quietly among themselves as Brown waited patiently. Sean stopped before exiting. "Detective Brown – tell Detective Sandburg that we're all pulling for his partner to be all right…won't you?"

Henri nodded, and waited until all the students were gone, before he went out, closing the door behind him. Swiftly, he headed for the parking lot to find Blair's car.

#####

"Sandburg, you all right?" Rafe gave a swift glance towards his passenger seat as they screamed along the freeway towards Cascade, the shrieking siren and blazing lights clearing a path for them.

Blair was huddled in the seat, staring down at the tightly-clenched hands in his lap. "Go faster," was the only response he made to Rafe's question.

"Blair, I can't; I'm going as fast as I dare right now." Rafe kept his gaze on the road ahead, which was now frustratingly full of cars all intent on obeying the speed limit, for once, and declining to move over to let the police vehicle pass.

"Jim would go faster," the other man said dully. Then: "Rafe…Downs. Did he…is he…? Did anyone…?" _Because… if he's not dead, and if Jim dies…I may have to kill him myself…._

"He's dead, one of the deputies got him," came the grim reply. "So's the defense attorney and a newspaper reporter. There are several people in the hospital with bullet wounds – besides Jim, I mean."

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, and Rafe, stealing another quick glance, saw tears splash on the clenched fists.

"Hang on, Hairboy." Rafe depressed the accelerator. Safe or not, he was going to fulfill Blair's request.

###

They swept into the emergency room drive, and Rafe braked to a stop directly in front of the doors. Blair was unfastening his seatbelt and opening the door, seemingly all at once, flinging himself from the car. "Thanks—" he breathed, and was gone, running full-tilt, barely giving the automatic doors time to register his presence and slide open. Rafe removed his foot from the brake, and moved to find a parking place. He passed a familiar gold Crown Victoria, parked heedlessly askew – Simon's car. Major Crimes was gathering in support of its own.

Blair sprinted into the emergency room and dashed up to the Information desk. "Detec – detective Ellison!" he gasped. "Gunshot wound—"

The woman behind the desk smiled at him reassuringly. "He's still in surgery, Detective Sandburg. Go on up to the surgical waiting room; seventh floor."

Blair nodded his thanks and ran for the elevators, grimly contemplating the sad fact that Cascade General's emergency room personnel knew both him and Jim by name and on sight. _There's something wrong about that! But,_ he comforted himself, _it also means that they look the other way when we stay with each other in recovery, or 24/7 in ICU despite the rules, or…._ The elevator door glided open, and Blair punched '7,' willing it to disregard any calls from the intervening floors.

The first person Blair saw when he reached the waiting room was his captain. Simon Banks was standing at the window, staring out at the soft-clouded October sky and absently twirling an unlit cigar between his fingers. Blair swiftly crossed the room.

"Captain…?"

Banks spun about. "Sandburg." Without further words, the big man reached out and enclosed Blair's shoulders in one arm, hugging him tightly. "Hang on, kid; Jim's gonna be fine, just fine."

"You've heard something?" Blair searched Banks' eyes hopefully.

"No, but his surgeon was feeling pretty optimistic before they went in." Simon steered him towards a nearby couch. "Where's Rafe?"

"Parking the car." Sandburg didn't resist the pressure of Simon's hands, but let himself be forcibly seated. Abruptly, he felt so exhausted he could barely walk. "Simon, how bad was it? Rafe and Brown…they couldn't tell me anything!"

"Blair…." The captain hesitated, and Blair felt his heart clench into a tiny, frozen lump of fear inside his chest. "He was hit more than once. One to the right shoulder, one to the right thigh, and one clipped the side of his head. He – BLAIR!"

 _Shot three times…he was shot three times! Three times…how can he survive that? The blood loss alone…._ In his mind, Blair could see his best friend clearly – Jim, lying unconscious on the courtroom floor, covered in blood, bright red arterial blood, dark red venous blood, _too much blood, too much…._ Sandburg sensed the room graying out as he heard Banks' words and took in their import, but he could have no more halted the progression than he could have performed _Swan Lake_ in a pink tutu. He let the grayness take him without a struggle, dimly feeling Simon's hands grasping his shoulders and easing him flat on the couch as he succumbed.

###

"… _can admit him, if you want, sir?"_

" _No….partner's in surgery…think he'll be all right...thanks anyway, though."_

" _He's coming around, Captain—"_

"Sandburg? Blair? Come on now, kid."

Feeling as if his eyelids were weighted down with pounds of dry concrete, Blair opened his eyes and stared upwards, finding and focusing on two familiar faces: Simon and Rafe. "I did something stupid, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't do anything stupid. You just lost touch with things for a few minutes, that's all." Banks' voice was surprisingly gentle. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah – aside from stupid." Blair pushed himself onto his elbows. "Sorry…." The words the captain had said pounded into his brain again. "J-jim was – he was shot three times?" he whispered, staring beseechingly up into his friends' faces.

Banks sighed heavily. "I knew that's what made you pass out! Blair – son, listen to me. It's not as bad as it sounds. The bullet to his head was just a graze, I promise you! It'll take some stitching, and the impact may have given him a concussion, but it wasn't that bad. The one to his leg – hell, Sandburg, it was probably very similar to the one you took from Wade Rooker, and I notice you're still alive and kicking!"

Blair hung on Simon's words, trying to bolster his courage and hopes.

"The shoulder shot – well, that was probably the worst of them, but I'll bet it didn't hit anything vital either." Banks held Blair's gaze, endeavoring to sound as positive and encouraging as he could. "I'll admit, he lost quite a lot of blood, but—"

"Blood! Does he need – I'm a match…I can donate…" Sandburg abruptly surged upwards on the couch, only to find the room spinning nastily. He felt two pairs of hands grasp him and ease him down.

"Hairboy, no doctor in his right mind would take blood from you right now," Rafe's soft tones echoed in his ear.

"Captain Banks?"

A new voice intruded. Blair struggled upright once more, peered around Simon, and caught sight of a tall, slender man wearing green operating scrubs standing in the doorway of the waiting room. _Yes!_ This was someone he knew – someone familiar, who knew Jim! Was this who had done the surgery? Pushing away the restraining hands, Blair staggered to his feet.

"Dr. Staley! How is Jim?"

"Hello, Blair; I didn't realize you'd gotten here." John Staley smiled down at the young detective warmly, then looked a little concerned when he took in Blair's pale, frantic face. "All right, sit down," he said firmly, and reinforced the request with a hand on Sandburg's elbow.

"Tell me…."

"Jim came through the surgery fine," Staley said. "It was a little dicey at the beginning; he'd lost quite a bit of blood, so it took awhile to get him stabilized; once we did, things went well." He smiled at the anxious group of police officers reassuringly.

"When can I see him?" As far as Blair was concerned, Simon and Rafe might as well not have been in the room; his attention was concentrated solely on the surgeon.

The physician smiled and gave Blair a conspiratorial wink. "It's against the rules, of course, but I believe we might be able to slide you into Recovery with him. So – maybe ten minutes or so from now…that soon enough for you?"

Blair nodded, his eyes expressing the gratitude his throat couldn't manage.

"In the meantime, Blair, I want you to sit down and rest, and try to relax," Dr. Staley said sternly. "That is, unless you want to be occupying an adjoining bed!"

"Don't give him ideas," Simon interjected hastily. "Dr. Staley, thank you. So much."

"My pleasure, Captain. I'll send someone to get you, Blair, when Jim's settled in Recovery."

#####

 _Oh God…Jim…._ He was so dreadfully white and still. Blair hovered in the curtained entrance to Jim's cubicle, his gaze riveted on his unconscious partner _. He looks awful…. So…bandaged_. His right shoulder swathed in gauze and his arm immobilized against his chest. His head sporting more gauze and tape. And there would be more yet, Blair knew, wrapping his leg, hidden now beneath the blanket. _And…monitored_. Pulse monitor attached to a forefinger, blood pressure cuff, not to mention all the IV tubes…. _But he's alive!_ a tiny voice in the Guide's mind exulted, _he's alive, he's alive, and he's going to be all right!_

He moved slowly towards the bed, and stood beside it, staring down. He wished that he possessed Jim's senses, just for now – not needing to depend on monitors and cold, sterile equipment to know what was happening with his Sentinel. Blair looked around and discovered a chair; he pulled it close to the bedside and sank down in it, then covered Jim's hand with his own. Very, very carefully, he grasped the cool, lax fingers. And very, very quietly, he began to whisper to his friend.

"Jim? Hey man…what kind of a deal is this, huh? Thought you said nothing could happen to you when you were in court!" He shifted slightly, to get a little more comfortable, settling in for the duration. "And Simon always thought I was the one who was a trouble magnet! I'm gonna make him eat his words, buddy, because it's you who's the trouble magnet, not me! After all, I've managed to do court appearances for a long time now, and I'VE never gotten shot!"

 _Keep it to a whisper…his senses will be way high when he starts coming out of the anesthesia. You're the one who can help him…it's who you are, what you do._ "I rode here with Rafe, ya know? He sure can't cut through traffic the way you can, big guy – but he did finally push the speed limit, at least. I don't think that little foreign job he drives has anywhere near the engine power your truck does, though….Henri drove my car. He complained about it, though….He said it didn't like him. He just got here – right before I came in here. They didn't think I should drive – funny, huh? I'm not the crazy driver in this partnership, that honor goes to you!"

Sandburg reached for the water pitcher on the little bedside table, and poured himself a glass, sipped gratefully and kept on talking, linking his fingers with his partner's once more. "It's probably time for you to start waking up, you know. They need the recovery rooms for other people….Come on, Jim, come back to me now. It's time for you to wake up….I know it feels safer being asleep, buddy, but I really need you to wake up, just for a little bit."

A nurse slipped quietly into the room, briefly checked Ellison, and departed, ignoring Blair's presence. He smiled a little as she exited. "They're pretending they don't see me, Jim – I'm the Invisible Man right now. Once you're out of recovery, then they can at least acknowledge that I'm here…not just yet, though. Right now I don't exist…under the radar, man, that's me!" Blair narrowed his eyes, concentrating on his partner's slack features. "You in there, Ellison? You'd better not be just ignoring me, man!"

No reply. Jim continued to lie quietly, pale and unresponsive. Blair cast a nervous glance at the digital readouts, then calmed a bit.

"Jim, work with me, here. I want you to listen to me…to hear me. You know what? H. said that my kids – my students – sent you a get-well message. He stayed after I left, for awhile, and talked to them. They were kinda shocked, I guess…after all, a report-writing class…you don't expect something like this to interrupt it…." Unexpectedly, the Guide's voice broke on the last words, and he leaned forward, bracing one forearm on the bed railing and laying his forehead against his wrist. "Please, Jim," he whispered. "Please. I need you here, man. Because I realized something today – I realized that if there's no you, then I don't much want there to be a me, either."

The fingers entwined in his own tightened slightly. The word was breathed so softly that for a moment Blair thought he'd heard it only in his imagination: "Nnnoo…."

"Jim?" He jerked back, startled, searching for confirmation of what he thought he'd heard. The pale lips moved, tightened….

"Need…you. Y'r…'mp'rt'nt." With agonizing slowness, Jim's eyelids raised, revealing exceedingly groggy blue eyes. He blinked once, then again, evidently trying to focus. "Bl'r?"

"I'm here." Sandburg knew he should be pressing that call button, alerting the nursing staff to the fact that Jim had surfaced from the anesthesia, but he wanted just a few moments with his Sentinel before the world intruded again. "I'm right here, Jim."

"…good….Stay…." The tired eyes closed again.

"Staying. Not going anywhere, big guy." Gripping his partner's fingers more tightly with one hand, Blair tapped the call button with the other. "Just take it easy, Jim – everything's going to be all right."

#####

"Sandburg, you don't have to feed me, you know. I'm not a baby bird." Jim Ellison made vague shooing motions at his roommate, who was hovering over him, spoon in hand. "I can use my left hand – I think," he added, with a little less certainty, realizing that with the IVs connected, he ran the risk of entangling tubes if he tried, and he most definitely wasn't ambidextrous anyway. "Hell, I can use my right hand, if I'm careful!" he continued, disregarding the fact that his right arm was held tightly in place by bandages. "And I don't WANT that!" he added fiercely, glaring at the contents of the spoon. Well, he intended it to be fierce, but Blair didn't look impressed. Damn it anyway, it was hell what bullet wounds and pain meds did to a guy! He turned his head away, petulantly.

"Maybe next meal you can do it yourself," Blair cajoled, still following the dodging Ellison mouth with the spoonful of jello. "Come on, Jim, if you don't let me feed you, you're gonna end up with a nurse in here who's an ex-Marine, or something, with no respect whatsoever for former Army Rangers. And she won't be nearly as nice about this as I am. So let's go here, big guy, open up!"

Sulkily, Ellison opened his mouth and allowed Blair to slide the spoon in. He made a face, but swallowed. Blair, wisely, didn't say anything more; merely kept spooning, one bite following the next. When the jello was gone, he swung the bed table away, and perched on the edge of Jim's bed, smiling.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The Sentinel tried to glare, but failed miserably; a tiny smile quirked up one side of his mouth. "No comment," he muttered, finally.

"The nurses think I'm wonderful, you know – because I can get you to eat and stuff, when none of them can," Blair informed him, with great satisfaction. "They think I'm possessed of magical powers—"

"You're possessed, all right," Jim grumbled. "What – did you tell them you're a shaman, to impress them?"

"Didn't have to," his Guide said smugly. "They think I'm wonderful," he repeated, his wide blue eyes twinkling.

"I hate you."

"Yes, yes, I know. You hate jello, you hate hospitals, you hate nurses, you hate doctors, and you hate me, most of all. Your life is just one big bundle of resentment, Ellison." Sandburg's words were teasing, but beneath the laughter his voice was very gentle, and his hand had instinctively sought Jim's as soon as he sat down; now Blair's fingers tightened on his partner's in a reassuring squeeze.

Jim surreptitiously surveyed his Guide, noting the dark circles around Blair's eyes. Had the kid been here all the time? For the first 24 hours or so, he had been too fogged with pain, and pain medication to do more than sleep, and listlessly respond when instructed to do so by some medical person – but still, it seemed to Jim that he could remember Blair's steadying, comforting presence, always there, always beside him, whenever he surfaced. And he knew for a fact that his partner hadn't left the hospital in the last day.

"Sandburg. Scram. Go home. Go away and let me suffer in peace," the Sentinel growled – and made absolutely no attempt to free his hand from Blair's.

"Nope. Not going anywhere. You're not safe by yourself. I may ask Dr. Staley to do whatever the opposite of separating Siamese twins is, on us. Or I'll just do it myself; I'll borrow a stapler from the nurses' station." Blair grinned at him.

"You come near me with a stapler, Sandburg, and I'll – I'll – ahhh-ahhmm…." Jim tried to look both horrified and threatening, but a yawn caught him unawares, and his eyes drifted shut.

Instantly, Blair was reaching for the bed controls, pushing the one which lowered the bed flat. "Time for a nap," he announced cheerfully. "You need another hit?" He indicated the push-button setup on the IV tubing.

"You are so bossy…." Jim scowled, and then nodded slightly. "Yeah…." Reluctantly, he pressed the button to release pain medication into the IV solution.

"That's probably why the nursing staff thinks I'm so wonderful."

"Because you're bossy? Probably." Ellison yawned again.

"Just relax, Jim." Blair's voice altered subtly: the smugness disappeared, the teasing tone was gone; all was gentle soothing. "Let it all go – turn the dials down and let go. I'm here, and I'll keep watch…on guard…shhh, just rest. That's it…there." Under the combined influences of sedation and Guide-voice, Ellison was already sliding into sleep.

When he was sure Jim wouldn't wake if he moved, Blair shifted from his perch on the edge of the bed to the nearby chair – and once more wrapped his hand around Jim's. _Not going anywhere…._

###

"Blair?" The softly-spoken word brought Sandburg's chin up from where it rested on his chest. He blinked, and saw Jim looking towards him, smiling a little. He glanced at the window and was surprised to see that it had gone dark outside.

"Sorry – sorry…." Blair stifled a yawn and tried for a smile. "Must've dozed off for a minute…."

"Chief, you've got to go home and get some rest." Jim, much more wide-awake now, elevated the head of his bed, then stared at his partner and Guide sternly. "You've been here ever since that first afternoon, haven't you?"

"Uh…."

"I thought so." The 'Ellison glare' was tempered by pain meds and sleep, but still effective. Even if Blair didn't buckle under it, Jim knew he was aware of it. "Blair – Chief, you know I appreciate having you here, but I would NOT appreciate having you here as a hospital roommate, and that's what you're gonna end up as, if you don't ease up!"

"But Jim—"

"Look…." Jim pushed himself higher on the pillows, with a definite grimace. "It's been what – two days?"

"You came in on Thursday – this is Saturday night," Blair confirmed.

"Dr. Staley says I can probably be released in a couple more days. I'm gonna recover just fine, and we both know it. If I know you, you're going to fussbudget all over the place once I'm home, and you won't get any rest then. So how about a compromise, here?"

Blair was still bristling over the 'fussbudget' comment, and didn't answer immediately.

"Chief?"

"What?" – sulkily.

"Compromise?"

"Depends on what it entails." Continued Guide-sulking. "If this was ME, you'd be Blessed Protector-ing your damn head off!"

Jim had the grace to blush at that astute observation. "But it's not you," he said, finally. "I mean – well, it is you, because I'm worried about you. Worrying probably isn't good for me, right, Chief? It's probably upsetting me….You trying to make me worse, by upsetting me, or something?—" Abruptly, Jim broke off the teasing argument. "Blair – ah, buddy, I'm sorry – hey, hey now, what's this…?" he murmured, and reached for his Guide.

For Blair's façade of bravado and stoic cheer had suddenly shattered; his lips trembled, and he hid his stricken face in the blanket covering Ellison, somewhere in the vicinity of the Sentinel's knees. A chagrined Jim felt hot dampness soaking through the fabric, as Blair allowed long-suppressed tears of tension and terror, relief, and near-total exhaustion to escape. "Thought…you've been…I can't….still scared something will happen…If you….D-don't dare leave…." The broken words, muffled by the blanket, came through clearly enough to Sentinel ears.

"Blair – shhh, shhh. It's all right – I'm all right." Wincing at the effort but determined to soothe his Guide, Jim stretched his left hand out and patted a quivering shoulder. "You can stop worrying now….shhh, it's over, Chief. Nothing's going to happen to me. I'm not going anywhere. Shhh….Easy, Blair….It's all over."

###

"That's…not true, you know," Sandburg mumbled some time later, when he'd managed to get both his traitorous voice and eyes under control.

"What isn't?" Jim was watching his partner with close attention; Blair's sudden breakdown had alarmed him. The kid was totally wiped out and running on sheer nerve _. He's doing it for_ _you_ _, Ellison, you ingrate! Do something about it._

"It's not all over, there's a lot of recovery time ahead of you."

"The dangerous part is over, though. But you're right, and that's another reason I was going to suggest the compromise," Jim said, reverting to the original topic.

"What is it?" Blair sighed.

"Just this: you go home now, and stay there tonight – ah-ah, let me finish!" Jim fixed his partner with a commanding stare as Blair automatically opened his mouth to argue. "Go home, get cleaned up, have something to eat, and get a decent night's sleep; and don't come back until tomorrow morning. Oh – and do it again, tomorrow night too. If you do that, I promise I'll be on my best behavior the rest of the time I'm in here." The older man smiled sweetly. "And you know how angelic I can be, if I try – right?"

Blair eyed him warily. "It sounds too…easy. What's the catch?"

"No catch. Sentinel's honor, Chief." Ellison grinned a little. "Please notice, I didn't say anything about after I'm released. We can re-negotiate then."

His partner still didn't look convinced. "I don't want to leave you by yourself."

Jim gave him a sharp look. "You haven't left for more than 10 minutes since I was admitted, have you? I know Simon brought you some clothes, and you took a couple of the fastest showers of your life – but you've been here 24/7. Chief, you can't keep this up."

"I don't want to leave," Blair repeated stubbornly. He stared at the floor, refusing to meet his partner's eyes.

The keen ice-blue gaze softened. "Blair – you were half-serious about stapling yourself to me, weren't you? I mean, you were joking about the stapler, but….Look, partner, what's going on in that overworked brain of yours? Do you really think that you have to stay glued to my side all the time?" He waited. "Sandburg?" No response. Very gently: "Chief?"

"If I leave – something will happen…" Sandburg faltered, at last. "If I'm with you, then at least there's a chance that I can protect you…."

"Oh Jesus…." Jim closed his eyes momentarily. "And I thought I was bad about the protector thing?"

"You are," was Blair's muttered reply.

"Nowhere near as bad as you," the Sentinel sighed. "Sandburg, what happens on Monday, when you're expected back at work?"

"Simon'll give me time off. You'll probably be released on Monday. He won't expect me to be in."

"And what happens on Tuesday – and Wednesday – and Thursday?" Jim relentlessly kept up the interrogation. "You've got a job at the precinct, and classes to teach over at West Skagit, remember? You can't just blow them off to stay home with me."

Blair blanched white and looked anywhere but his partner's probing eyes.

"Blair?"

"I don't know, all right? I'll figure something out – dammit, Jim, I can't go back there. If I hadn't been out there at that class—"

"Whoa, whoa. Now we're getting to it, aren't we?" Ellison bore in ruthlessly, pulling himself upright in the bed. "You think that if you hadn't been teaching, you could have saved me from getting shot in the courtroom? Chief, that's screwy even for you! For one thing, you wouldn't have been in court with me anyway, you'd have been out in the field by yourself, or in the office!"

Blair didn't answer.

"IF – and that's a big 'if,' – you'd been there, by any stretch of the imagination, you'd probably have been shot too! Ever think of that?" Jim scowled with the effort of making his point. Trying to cope with this was giving him a throbbing headache. "There was no 'saving' involved; there wasn't any time to push or be pushed out of the line of fire. The guy grabbed the gun and started firing! He didn't take time to aim, he just pulled the trigger and kept on pulling." Ellison stopped and caught his breath; grimacing, he eased himself back against the pillows, holding up a forestalling hand when Blair would have aided him. "I can do it, Sandburg."

"I can't help it…." The defeated whisper was directed at the floor. "I can't help it."

"Now you know how it feels," Jim murmured. "To want to keep someone wrapped up in bubble-wrap, where they're safe."

"I've known before – but it's worse this time."

"Chief, you can't do this. You've spent five years telling ME not to do this, with you – now you've got to stop. Right now."

"I know…but I can't."

"But you'll go home and get some rest?" Ellison reverted to the original argument without commenting on the 'I can't.'

"I…I'll go. I guess." Sandburg glanced up, fear for Jim, and guilt, and affection warring for dominance in his eyes. Affection won, hands down. "But I'm gonna hold you to that 'I'll be an angel' promise, and I'm going to tell the nurses you said it, too!"

"Again with the nurses! You've got a real fixation on those nurses, Sandburg."

"They think I'm wonderful," Blair gloated, a tiny wicked sparkle now apparent in his tired eyes. "They appreciate me."

"Well hell, Chief, I appreciate you too." Jim relaxed a little; Blair had either recovered from his emotional meltdown, or he was trying very hard to give that impression.

With great reluctance, Blair stood up, willing to fulfill his part of the bargain. "Can I at least call you?" he asked softly, "To make sure you're okay, before I go to bed?"

"Of course," his roommate said gently. "And Chief? You ARE going to go back to West Skagit on Wednesday, you know. The kids out there are counting on you, and I know you wouldn't let them down. Or make Simon look bad – after all, he's the one the department head asked for a recommendation."

Sandburg heaved a sigh and then smiled wanly. "You fight dirty, Ellison," he whispered. "I'll talk to you in a little while. Behave yourself." Leaning over the bed, he managed a semi-hug that didn't involve any of his partner's injuries.

"Angelic," the Sentinel vowed – and winked.

###

Jim had intended to sleep again, after Blair left, but it was scarcely fifteen minutes before another visitor arrived – Captain Simon Banks.

"Well, detective, you look considerably better than the last time I saw you," Banks observed, settling into the chair and surveying Jim with satisfaction. "I see they took most of the bandages off your head. How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad," Ellison said, "And I'll look even better tomorrow, if they redo my shoulder and give me a sling instead of this damned cocoon!"

"Don't rush things," the captain advised him. "If the doctors think you need to stay immobilized awhile longer, then you stay immobilized!" He looked around, obviously seeking something. "Where's Sandburg? I figured he'd be here!"

"I managed to talk him into going home for the night," Jim grinned and announced this as if it were an enormous feat…and then sobered. "Simon – he's got me worried. He had a total emotional meltdown this evening. He's apparently afraid to leave me by myself; he thinks something's going to happen to me if he's not around to protect me!"

Simon gave him an incredulous look. "What? You mean now I've got TWO Blessed Protectors in my department? God Almighty, Jim, one was more than enough!"

Ellison, slightly nettled at that comment, merely scowled. "He's fudging about going back to the college to teach those classes," he supplied after a moment.

Banks considered this for awhile before he replied. "Okay, I'm no psychologist, but I think I have an idea why he's reacting this way."

"Share the secret, Simon, before he really DOES get a stapler and start in!"

"A stapler?"

"You don't want to know."

"Hmmm. Probably not. Well, Jim, think about it. This is the first time since Sandburg's made detective and officially been your partner on the force that you've gotten hurt – wait, this is the kicker, right here – gotten hurt when HE wasn't with you!"

The Sentinel thought for a moment, frowning and absently massaging his head near the bandage. "What am I missing?"

"Look, if Blair's with you, even if something happens, he knows he did the best he could to prevent it, to save you, whatever. He does whatever might be expected of your partner and backup. This time, you were by yourself. And whereas he might accept it if he'd been out in the field or in the bullpen – doing something 'cop-related', he wasn't. He was off teaching again – and he feels guilty as hell about it! He thinks he let you down – didn't do what a 'real' partner was supposed to do. So now he's determined he's not going to leave you alone and unprotected again."

"But…he was supposed to be there!" Jim protested.

"Of course he was. I requested him to take that job. The offer came through official channels. It was sanctioned by the police chief, it was approved by me, and you were all for it. Nonetheless, he feels like he shouldn't have been there when you were injured." Banks sighed. "He's turned a guilt trip into a friggin' round-the-world cruise!"

"For someone who's not a psychologist, you do a pretty mean imitation of one, Simon."

Banks smirked, and Jim couldn't help noticing that his expression was a near-mirror of Blair's earlier one. "That's why I'm the captain," Simon murmured smugly.

"So, Captain, sir, how do we solve this, since you're so all-knowing?" Jim eyed the older man expectantly.

Simon's complacency diminished speedily. "I'm not sure."

"It would help if I was going right back to work," the Sentinel mused. "Sandburg would probably feel more secure about leaving me on my own if I was in the bullpen, surrounded by other detectives, or if we were back doing our regular jobs. Could I come back for half-days, or something?"

"Right away?" Simon looked horrified. "I don't think your doctor would let you, Jim, even if you felt up to it! And don't tell me you feel up to it, because I know better." He shook his head. "And don't give me that about the precinct being safe, either. Do the words Klaus Zeller, the Sunrise Patriots or Golden ring any bells?"

Ellison scowled. He couldn't argue the point; he felt lousy – relatively speaking – and he knew from bitter experience that he wasn't going to feel 100% for quite a while. And Simon reminding him of the numerous times that police department security had been breached didn't help. "The main problem is that everything is on the same side," he said, looking down at his bandages. "I can't use crutches or a cane because of my shoulder. I can't walk without them because of my leg. It's a vicious circle. And I can't drive, dammit!"

"Maybe you'll be able to limp around by Tuesday," Banks suggested. His face clouded. "Jim – is Sandburg going to be able to handle things, when you're released? I mean…physically? You're a lot bigger than he is, and you're gonna be kind of helpless…."

Jim eyed him with unconcealed amusement. "Simon, Blair and I have been roommates for nearly five years – and we've both been sick and hurt more than a few times during those five years. Don't you think we've worked out these problems long before NOW?"

Banks shrugged. "Just thought I'd better ask. If you want to have a private-duty nurse or something, now's the time to request it, while you're still in the hospital."

"We can manage without a private nurse," Ellison said dryly. "Although I suspect I may be spending more time than I'd like on that damned futon in Blair's room; stairs may be a little beyond me for awhile. And face it, Simon, having someone else at the loft that we'd have to tiptoe around…with the senses thing, I mean…well, we don't need that."

"Oh. True. Well, back to my original question – if you make it into work next week, and you stay put at your desk while you're there, do you think it would help Sandburg deal with things?"

"It doesn't sound like a lot of fun," the Sentinel grimaced. "I'd rather spend a little down time at home, to be honest. But if it's what Blair needs, to get back on track, I suppose I can live with it." He thought a little more. "Ahhh…I have an idea about those classes." His eyes twinkled as he looked up at Simon.

"Tell me."

"What if I offer to go with him?"

#####

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

"Go with me? To the college? Sit through two three-hour classes? No WAY, man! That would exhaust you right into a relapse!"

"Sitting in a chair is going to exhaust me into a relapse? Come on, Sandburg, I'm not exactly Camille, here!"

"Jim—" Blair stared at his roommate helplessly. "You can't…."

"Besides, Chief, you said the students in your morning class knew about this. Don't you think they'd like to actually see that things turned out all right?"

Blair dropped into the armchair next to the hospital bed and folded his arms across his chest. "Great – now I'm bringing you to class for 'show and tell'? Jim, you'd HATE IT! Even if it didn't wear you out physically – which it will – you will go out of your MIND listening to me tell a bunch of students how to fill out police forms!"

Ellison grimaced. "I know. But I still think I'd rather go with you than sit at home by myself all Wednesday and Thursday…and you are going to go teach those classes, Blair! So I would be alone. Unless you agree that I can go to work, of course…."

"No, no, no…you're not cleared to return to work for another week, man!" Sandburg buried his hands in his curls and clenched his fists. "You are doing this to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

The Sentinel grinned a little. "Only as a side effect." _Better crazy than overwhelmed by guilt, Chief, believe me!_

"When you're better I'm going to kill you." The mutter came from behind the curtain of hair.

"When I'm better I won't let you. You wouldn't stand a chance against me, Junior."

"Hey, I learned how to fight at the Academy!"

"Sandburg, that academy can't hold a candle to Black Ops, so don't even bother continuing this argument." Ellison shifted gingerly, and repositioned his arm in its sling – he'd managed to coax his doctor into allowing him to wear one, releasing his arm from the restrictive bandaging. The increased mobility was great – the resultant pain not quite so nice.

"Look – how about if I ask Simon for Tuesday off as well as Monday," Blair bargained, "and stay home with you – and then maybe go in to work on Wednesday morning, and…uh…"

"—and then I'll go with you on Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning, to the college," Jim prompted, "and then you drop me at home and go in to work Thursday afternoon."

Blair gazed at him unhappily; knowing he was being talked into a corner and not liking it in the least. "And Friday?"

"We'll deal with Friday when it's closer. By then I might be able to work part of the day. Or you'll be okay with leaving me home on my own." The Sentinel felt triumphant; he knew Blair was conceding the victory – with surprising grace. So, he could be gracious too. "Blair – you're okay with this, right?"

"No," his roommate admitted, but a reluctant smile creased his face. "But I've learned to pick my battles. And I STILL think you're asking for trouble trying to go with me to West Skagit. We'll see how you feel Wednesday night, before I take you back there on Thursday morning."

Jim didn't care if he was asking for trouble. As long as _Blair_ went – and went to work – as long as things returned to what passed for 'normal' with the two of them – as long as that tense, strained look faded from his Guide's face – he was willing to put up with boredom incarnate and some physical discomfort.

"First things first," Blair said now. "When they bring your dinner tray, let's see just how usable that right hand is." He grinned. "Rumor has it that you've graduated from jello to mashed potatoes and meatloaf."

#####

Students entered the classroom by ones and twos, straggling towards their customary seats. Most of them glanced towards the front of the room, where their instructor usually awaited them. Many looked apprehensive – but their expressions suddenly lightened when they saw a familiar face and form seated behind the little desk in the corner. There had been a lot of concern as to whether or not Mr. – Detective – Sandburg would be back to teach them about writing police reports.

A shrill buzzing noise splintered the air and brought relative silence to the students' chattering. Blair got to his feet and stepped up to his usual lecture position in front of his class, smiling warmly.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. A week ago this class was interrupted by the receipt of some very distressing news. I would like at this time to thank you for the good wishes you sent – both by way of Detective Brown, and the several e-mails I received – and to show you that just occasionally, a sad story can have a happy ending." With a wave of his hand, Blair indicated the chair beside the little desk, where sat a handsome, well-built man with blue eyes and short dark hair, whose right arm rested in a sling. His right leg was encased in a soft brace, and was propped on an adjoining chair. "May I present my partner, Detective James Ellison?"

The End


End file.
